


Dance Into My Heart

by artemisgrace



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisgrace/pseuds/artemisgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was commissioned to write this as a gift for @foxyladycpz on tumblr from their friend Summer. Happy Birthday!</p><p>Koujaku is a warlord returned from battle, and grateful to be home. His men hire a special entertainment for him for their victory banquet, a beautiful dancer. They didn't know at the time, but they were hiring not only a dancer, but the love of Koujaku's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Into My Heart

Koujaku shrugged off his armor, battered and dulled, to change his clothes beneath, soaked with sweat after a long ride home. The war campaign was over, victory had been his, and at last he could relax at home, the place where he had been born and to which he always longed to return. Unsticking the fabric from his skin, he tossed the clothes into a basket to be laundered by a member of his staff, and proceeded to give himself a going over with a wet cloth from the basin of water that had been supplied him. The men had arranged special entertainment for the celebratory banquet, Koujaku had been told, and he mustn’t arrive disheveled. It was a matter of pride and a gesture of respect to the guests and entertainers at the party to be clean and tidy, befitting a man of his status.

He would put his armor back on at least for the first part of the festivities. He’d be expected to give some sort of speech, and he ought to look the part, reminding everyone what it was they were celebrating, and what they would now miss. There would be joy, but tainted by certain faces not among them. Still, this was, in a way, also a tribute to those men lost; they would be remembered and their sacrifice honored. 

Koujaku had no ceremonial armor; if he had, he wouldn’t have worn it. He saw no dignity in armor without a scratch, unsullied by fighting, saw no honor in such pretense. 

Clean and dressed, hair combed and pinned back, Koujaku made his way to the banquet hall, where he could already hear the sounds of merriment echoing, bringing lightness to his heart. It was good to be home.

Entering the hall, a wall of sound hit him: music playing joyously, his men and the other guests laughing and joking amongst each other. The sound of peacetime. Delicious scents rose to Koujaku’s nose, delicacies prepared specially for this feast and flowers brought in to perfume the air with their sweetness. He grinned to himself as he moved to stand before everyone, pleased to see so many smiles as they turned to him, quieting respectfully as Koujaku addressed them. He spoke of bravery, honor, victory and loss, and thanked his men for their loyalty. He knew well that he would be no great warlord without the work of those who followed him. No kingdom was ever built by its king, but by his men.

He spoke briefly, as eager to get back to the food and fun as any of his men, and told everyone to eat well and be merry; they deserved it. The great cheer he got devolved into raucous sounds of men eating and laughing heartily, and he tucked into the food himself, eyes rolling back in pleasure. This was better than any food he’d had in ages; there were no such delicacies on the battlefield.  
Another cheer arose, drawing Koujaku’s attention away from the food. He felt his right-hand man nudge his side and he turned to him as he spoke.

“Here’s the special entertainment, just for you, boss!” The man grinned, eyes crinkling into such an amused expression that Koujaku wondered momentarily if he was to be victim of some practical joke.  
He turned back to see what it was, and his mouth fell open in astonishment. A heavenly spirit had entered the hall, stepping lightly toward where Koujaku sat, fluttering fabric swirling around it like the waters of a bubbling stream, long blue locks of hair gleaming in the light as if the moon itself rested as a crown upon this great beauty’s head. Koujaku stared, enchanted, heart beating in time with this ethereal creature’s steps as it began to dance before him. 

His men had hired a dancer, this he knew, but it still seemed as if a silver moonbeam personified swayed before him, twirling sweetly to the music, a leaf on the wind. Koujaku couldn’t think of anything he’d seen that had been more beautiful. Not one thing. 

He watched, entranced, following the dancer’s every movement with his eyes, delicate fingers on delicate hands outstretched, delicate feet stepping gently, as if upon clouds, and long eyelashes fluttering as lovely green-gold eyes met Koujaku’s own. Those eyes captured his, that gaze a siren’s song. 

The dancer swayed and twirled, Koujaku couldn’t say how long for; it seemed like forever and no time at all. Those eyes never left his, and Koujaku could swear that those movements beckoned him. He would not disobey. 

The music ceased and the dancer moved to leave, that is, until Koujaku raised his arm, beckoning the dancer to sit beside him. The beauty smiled sweetly and complied, moving gracefully to sit to Koujaku’s left, a sweet perfume rolling towards him as the dancer’s clothes fluttered. It was ever so enticing, having such a heavenly thing so close. He longed to touch that creamy, silken skin, that flowing, shining hair, but he refrained, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He loathed to offend an angel. 

Koujaku engaged the beauty in conversation, entranced again by the soft voice that emerged from sweet pink lips. He couldn’t recall how their fingers became entwined on the floor between them, but entwine they did. Koujaku’s calloused fingers traced the blue veins running beneath fragile, milky skin, the two of them in a tranquil world of their own, as around them the party became frenzy of dancing and singing. When the dancer’s eyes caught Koujaku’s own, and the tilt of a blue haired head gestured for the two of them to depart to a more private location, Koujaku had no qualms about going. His men were so drunk now, it that was doubtful they’d notice his leaving.

He stood, taking the dancer’s hand, and they left the hall quietly, eyes still locked on each other, sweet whispers exchanged between them as Koujaku guided them to his chambers. 

The moment the door closed, the dancer’s lips found Koujaku’s and he reveled in their softness, arms going to loop around the dancer, who he’d learned to be named Aoba, and Aoba’s arms moved to loop around Koujaku’s neck, standing on tip toes, eager to taste Koujaku’s lips. Aoba was intoxicating, the floral perfume muddling Koujaku’s head even more than the sake, making heat rise in his chest and face, and to be honest, lower down as well. 

Kisses became soft touches straying beneath clothing as Koujaku abandoned his armor on the floor, and Aoba abandoned silken garments one by one, enticing Koujaku all the more as more skin was revealed. Kisses strayed from lips to throats, leaving flowering red marks and drawing moans from the depths of their chests, heads swimming with only the thought to touch, to caress. 

They stumbled to Koujaku’s bed, sparing no thought to their footsteps, too preoccupied with each other, their passion consuming them as paper falls to flame, not a breath of resistance. Falling into bed, entwined, loathe to part even for a moment, Koujaku stroked Aoba’s bare chest underneath the cloth, and stilled, surprised. He thought that Aoba’s chest looked rather flat, but . . . this was totally flat, not just small-chested. He looked down, and sure enough there was a slight bulge in the fabric still covering Aoba’s lower half. Aoba was male, apparently.

Koujaku’s surprised gaze met Aoba’s eyes, and the expression in them gave him pause. Aoba looked afraid. Koujaku’s heart melted at that look. He could see now what he hadn’t before, a squareness of the jaw that hinted at his sex, but it couldn’t change that Aoba was the most stunning thing he’d ever seen. He couldn’t bring himself to care that Aoba was a man. True beauty bypasses such trivial things.

He kissed Aoba again, sweetly, gently, carefully wiping the fear and uncertainty from that beautiful visage. Pulling back, Koujaku could see tears of relief in Aoba’s eyes, and a smile upon his kiss-reddened lips.

“You don’t mind?” Aoba asked in a small voice, a pretty pink blush staining his face.

“Of course not,” came Koujaku’s reply, trailing off into another kiss.

Their doubts left behind, they could indulge in each other, reveling in the feel of naked skin on skin, movements slickened with sweat as their body heat mingled. Koujaku did everything he could think of to bring Aoba pleasure, adoring the expressions on his face when Koujaku touched him just so, loving the way Aoba clutched at him and cried out sweetly, treasuring every moan and gasp.

Koujaku could feel himself practically melting in the heat of it, of the passion shared between them, an intimacy he had never before felt, not like this. It was overwhelming, crashing over him in waves, and he could see that Aoba felt the same, his face blushing so prettily, gleaming eyes gazing into Koujaku’s own, clearly embarrassed at the closeness, but unable to pull away.

They reached their climax together, holding each other close, tenderly, as if the other was the most precious gem in the world. Aoba would be a pearl, Koujaku thought; the blue of his hair like ocean waves reflecting moonbeams, the shine of the sun on water in his eyes, and the blush of coral in his cheeks. Lying there, holding this beautiful flower of a person, Koujaku couldn’t think of ending this thing they had between them. He wished only to keep this pearl, Aoba, close to him, to treasure him as such a precious thing deserves. 

In the morning, he thought, gazing down with a smile at Aoba dozing curled up against his side, he’d ask Aoba to be his. He couldn’t let this be a one-time thing.

This could be nothing but love.

**Author's Note:**

> The general plot was given to me by the person who commissioned this fic, and they gave me artistic license to go from there.  
> I really hope that @foxyladycpz likes the gift! I hope you had a lovely birthday!  
> If you are interested in commissioning me, email me at artemisgracecommissions@gmail.com :)


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